


Born Again

by Arlome



Category: Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Birth, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-22 00:07:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12469044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlome/pseuds/Arlome
Summary: The world welcomes young Master Jeremy.





	Born Again

**Author's Note:**

> Because Dwight Enys delivering babies is a thing of beauty and makes me ridiculously happy.

She's curled up in the great bed, legs drawn up, already stripped out of her stays and frock when Dwight bursts into the room. He casts one shrewd look at her, throws his satchel on the bed, his coat on the back of a chair, and begins rolling up his sleeves. Prudie appears in the doorway behind him, her large, moon-round face purple with exertion.

"F-found 'im fer ye, C-captain Poldark, sur," she pants laboriously, her hand pressed to her side, "here be Dr. Enys fer the mistress." 

Jinny Carter brushes past the large woman, carrying a bundle of fresh linen and a pitcher of hot water. 

"Out, Ross," Dwight orders, and inclines his head towards the door, indicating the way out for his agitated friend, "You must leave us now."

He has his back to the pacing captain, his hands busy with the unfurling and unfolding of his instruments; behind him, Ross huffs and puffs impatiently.

"Are you certain?" the older man asks, worry and reluctance coloring his voice, "can I not be of assistance here? Might you not need me for something?"

Dwight turns to his friend in annoyance and exasperation, but the look on the captain's face makes him check himself. Instead of the scowl that he so dearly wishes to bestow upon the other man for being a hindrance and, quite frankly, a nuisance at this point, Dwight smiles gently and clasps Ross' shoulder.

"Men, unless they are physicians, have no business in the birthing room, my friend," he says quietly and taps two fingers against his friend's chest, "now, out; every moment I spend talking to you is a moment I'm _not_ tending on your wife and unborn child."

Ross, thankfully, finally nods and turns to leave, but at the doorway, he hesitates and swerves back to look at the figure on the bed. His wife lies sweaty and shaking, overcome by spasms unfamiliar to Man; he takes one step back into the room and, at Dwight's raised eyebrows and folded arms, nods again.

"Courage, my love," he mutters in the direction of his wife, who happens to choose this specific moment to squeeze an exceedingly juicy swear word through her clenched teeth. His eyes widen, and he turns to the other man, "Dwight…I leave her in your hands…"

The surgeon exhales loudly and shoves Ross out of the room.

"Stop worrying," he says and claps the captain on his back, "go downstairs, have a glass of brandy; read something, for God's sake! I shall find you when I have news for you."

Before Dwight can manage to shut the door in his friend's face, Ross looks at him through narrow eyes and shakes his head.

"You will sing a different tune when it is _you_ who has to go down below and read something, my friend."

Dwight laughs and shrugs.

"Oh, I very much doubt it, Ross," he chuckles, leaning against the door, "the poor woman who shall have the misfortune of marrying yours truly, will have to endure my horrid, brisk presence in the birthing chamber due to my profession. Now, out; or your child will be born without assistance!"

With that, he shuts the door in his friend's annoyed face with no small degree of satisfaction and turns to finally attend on Mrs. Poldark properly. She's curled on her left side, shaking violently and when he sits to her right, she starts and moans in pain.

"Demelza," Dwight says gently, touching a clammy hand softly, discreetly feeling for her pulse; _rapid,_ " Demelza, can you turn towards me; I would like to examine you. I need to ascertain your progress." 

The red-haired young woman shakes her sweaty head and grits her teeth.

"I," she sobs, "I-I can't move, Dwight," she takes a long breath through her nose, "'tis the p-pain; _strong."_

He nods and pats her knee sympathetically.

"I understand; as soon as you are able, then."

It takes another minute- which he times- until she is able to move in his direction with difficulty and double the assistance from both Prudie and Jinny. Dwight lifts up the edges of Demelza's shift, deliberately seeming to not notice the red-crimson humiliated hue to her cheeks.

"I need you to spread your legs a little bit farther, Demelza; there, right there. This may hurt a bit; forgive me, just a _little_ further – _there!_ Good! You've been very brave, Demelza; not long now, take heart."

Demelza breathes heavily; her eyes shut tight, brows furrowed.

"Dwight," she pants, "Dwight; why are you not marrying Joan Pascoe? Is it that Penvenen girl that prevents you from doing it?"

Dwight's eyebrows rise to meet his hairline, and his eyes widen in shock. He shakes his head to clear his thoughts and turns to wipe his hands on his apron.

"Where is this coming from?" he opts to ask after a few moments of silence instead of answering her question.

Demelza smiles weekly, her eyes still shut tight. Prudie and Jinny exchange uneasy glances over their mistress' head, no doubt used to her honest nature by now.

"I m-must distract myself," she wails as another spasm clutches at her innards, "Oh, Judas God! T-this be worse than the first time!"

Dwight grabs her palm in his hand and presses a pressure point between her thumb and forefinger. Secretly he is more than thankful for the advanced stage of her labor; she soon shall be too preoccupied to deal with the question of his forced celibacy. 

"Try to breathe through the pain, Demelza," he instructs, counting seconds in his heart, "it will help."

The young woman whimpers and rolls on the bed from side to side, her right arm gripped in a tight hold. When the spasm subsides, Dwight releases her hand, which falls limp by her side.

"The pains are very close together," he says, smiling encouragingly and bends to swipe wet strands of copper curls from Demelza's sweaty forehead, "not long now; you are doing very good, my dear friend."

Demelza smiles and looks at him through tear-filled eyes.

"You are wasted on bachelorhood, Dwight," she breathes weakly, "tell me, is it too late to exchange Ross for you?"

He chuckles and shakes his head.

"There, there, Mrs. Poldark," he says, smiling, and juts his chin at Jinny as a sigh for the girl to stand at the ready, "I should dearly wish to avoid becoming your husband's shooting practice."

Demelza tries to return the jest, but a particularly powerful, squeezing contraction renders her speechless and Dwight seizes the moment to climb atop the bed and settle between her legs. 

"Jinny, Prudie," he instructs, pushing the young woman's feet further apart, "you must each grab a knee and pull it upwards and towards you; yes, just like that. Demelza," Dwight nods at the red-faced girl, "now; when the pressure comes, you must push. Can you do that?"

Demelza does, and she nods and holds her breath and screams through the intense compression in her pelvis; Dwight presses a few fingers to the birthing canal to check for the child's progress.

"Very well done," he encourages the panting girl, and she sobs with relief, "a few more superb pushes like that and we shall all have an occasion for a good glass of brandy!"

Demelza laughs suddenly, and the two serving women exchange nervous smiles at the outburst. Something peaks between the quivering legs, making Dwight start.

"I see the head, Demelza!" he exclaims excitedly because, though he's attended some births in his professional life, this one is entirely different than the rest; _for this is a birth of a family member,_ "come on, dear girl; a few more pushes will see it born!"

Three long pushes and four loud grunted screams see the child – a lovely boy – delivered safely in his hands. Demelza falls back against the pillows, spent but pleased; her curls an auburn halo of divinity about her tousled head. Prudie cries openly, dabbing at her eyes with her dirty pinafore and Jinny Carter bends to help him bathe the child.

When the afterbirth is safely delivered, Dwight takes the mewling bundle from Jinny's hands and sits by Demelza, handing her the newborn babe.

"A healthy son," he says, and his smile is dazzling and slightly wet with emotion. She looks up at him, her eyes soft and grateful.

"You know, Dwight," she says as she holds the little boy to her breast and gazes at him lovingly, "I think I may be a little bit in love with you now."

He laughs and shakes his head and looks at her with affection.

"I'm glad I could be of service," he says, and she nods, looking at him fondly.

"You are a miracle worker, Dr. Enys," she says quietly, her finger stroking her son's soft cheek, "and we are lucky to have you."

Dwight shakes his head again, suddenly bashful at the praise coming from her; he rises from the bed and inches towards the door.

"I will go congratulate Ross, shall I?"

Demelza raises her eyes and smiles at him brightly.

"Thank you."

Dwight descends the stairs, wiping his bloody hands on a towel; Ross stands below, his disheveled look giving away his agitation. No doubt he's been wearing the floor down with his pacing. At the sight of his friend, his eyes widen, and concern seeps into them and washes over his ashen face.

Dwight smiles brilliantly, his own heart full to the brim.

The sun outside is bright and warm, the summer coming early this year. Ross stares at him, waiting for the doctor's verdict with bated breath; Dwight nods in encouragement.

"You have a son."


End file.
